


The Utterly Uninteresting and Unadventurous Tales of Mrs. Figg

by iam93percentstardust



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Neglect, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-11-07 18:36:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11064792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iam93percentstardust/pseuds/iam93percentstardust
Summary: Mrs. Figg, an unassuming Squib, finds herself caught up in the life of the infant Harry Potter when his family is unwilling to take care of him.





	The Utterly Uninteresting and Unadventurous Tales of Mrs. Figg

Mrs. Figg of number nine, Didion Lane, was sad to say that she was perfectly normal. She was the last person you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious but not because she didn’t hold with such nonsense.

See, Arabella Figg was a Squib and a Squib, as you know, is a witch or wizard born without any magical abilities.

For the first eleven years of her life, she eagerly awaited her Hogwarts letter even though she’d never shown any sort of magical talent. When it didn’t come, her entire family had been bitterly disappointed. Arabella, while just as upset as her family, privately felt as though she should have expect this.

As the years passed, Arabella’s bitterness faded until she had accepted that she would never be a witch. She found that she had an almost magical connection to animals, particularly cats. She settled down in a Muggle town, Little Whinging, with her four cats and became acquainted with some of her neighbors. They never suspected that there was anything odd with Arabella, despite her affinity for cats.

Several years passed in this fashion. Arabella enjoyed her life, anonymous and invisible—until the night of November 1, 1981.

* * *

 

There were very few things that Arabella knew about the wizarding world. She didn’t know how to cast a Patronus Charm. She didn’t know how to make a Forgetfulness Potion. She didn’t know how to ride a broomstick or cure a sick unicorn. But there were two things that she did know.

She knew who Albus Dumbledore was.

And she knew who Lord Voldemort was.

Arabella was in London on November 1, 1981. She celebrated the demise of Lord Voldemort and little Harry Potter’s victory. It was a day when Squibs and witches and wizards alike were equal. For the first time in a long while, Arabella felt the old stab of jealousy at not truly being a part of the magical community. But she pushed it aside and focused on her relief at Voldemort’s fall.

For the first time in so many years, the magical community—and Arabella—was safe.

It was just after midnight when she hobbled her way home after leaving the taxi at the edge of the neighborhood. She paused at the entrance to Privet Drive, thinking it odd that all the streetlamps were broken. But, as there was no other explanation, Arabella continued on her way. She turned off onto Didion Lane, two streets over from Privet Drive.

She let herself in to her dark house. A pure white kitten wound through her legs, purring loudly. Arabella bent to pick it up. “Hello, Snowy,” she said. “Did you hear the news? You-Know-Who is gone.”

Arabella prepared for bed and was starting to turn off the lights when there was a sharp rap on the door.

She froze, staring at the door. Voldemort’s followers were still out there and, while they mainly preferred to torture Muggles and Muggleborns, she didn’t think they’d pass by a Squib.

The knock came again, louder and more insistent.

Trying to keep as out of sight as possible, Arabella crept to the side of the door to peer through the side window. There was a man outside.

He was tall, thin, and very old, Arabella thought. His hair and beard were both long and silver. He wore black robes and a purple cloak. His bright blue eyes twinkled behind half-moon spectacles. Arabella recognized him at once.

Albus Dumbledore.

Immediately, she opened the door. “Professor Dumbledore, sir,” she greeted him, bowing her head.

“Mrs. Arabella Figg,” Dumbledore said gravely. “I’ve come here on serious business.”

“Of course,” Arabella said, flustered, stepping aside to motion him in. Oh, how she wished she’d cleaned earlier. “I didn’t realize you knew who I was.” She shut the door behind him.

Dumbledore regarded her over his spectacles. “I make it a point to know all members of the wizarding community living near the Dursleys.”

“The Dursleys,” Arabella mouthed. She couldn’t think of who they were. “Wait—that horrid family over on Privet Drive?” She wrinkled her nose. They were even less magical than she. “Why do you care about them?”

He didn’t answer for a moment as his keen gaze swept over the inside of Arabella’s house. Again, she wished that she could have brushed some of the cat hair off the sofa and dusted the top of the countertops. Finally, Dumbledore replied, “Petunia Dursley was Lily Potter’s sister. I’ve decided it best that Harry go to be with them.”

Arabella’s jaw fell open in horror. “You can’t mean that!” she whispered. “I’ve lived two streets over from them for eight years. They’re awful. They’re vile. Their son kicked Tibbles halfway across the street once. They’re—”

“—The only family he has left,” Dumbledore finished with a note of finality.

Arabella stared at him, still very concerned. “So why are you telling me then?” she asked.

“I have written the Dursleys a letter, explaining Harry’s unique situation. I’ve asked them to treat Harry as though he were a son. But, as you so kindly informed me, they’re rather ill-behaved.” Dumbledore paused and gave her another once-over. “I’d like for you to look after Harry as best you can.”

* * *

 

The very next day, Arabella put Snowy on the case. She had him watching out for the first time the Dursleys needed a babysitter. Arabella thought it would take a few months, as they would be trying to adjust to the new life in their home. But it was barely a week before Snowy streaked home to alert her.

Arabella hobbled out of her home, Snowy trotting alongside her, clearly pleased with himself. Arabella, on the other hand, was less sure of herself. She wasn’t sure what she would say to the Dursleys or even how to approach them. She just knew that she had to get there before anyone else did.

As she made her way up Privet Drive, she could hear the loud voices of the Dursleys from their front yard.

“I’m not leaving that thing with my ickle-Diddykins. You know what their kind are like!” Mrs. Dursley hissed at her husband. “He could hurt him.”

“Petunia, we don’t have anyone else. We have to go to the dinner; I can’t skip another one. Not if I want that big promotion,” Mr. Dursley said loudly, stroking his mustache and trying to appear more important than he was. He spoke up even louder. “We’ll just have to leave him here unless someone else wants to watch him.”

Here was Arabella’s in. She hurried up to the couple. They seemed horrified at her shabbiness but she pushed forward. “You need someone to watch your son?” she asked.

“Not our son, no,” Mrs. Dursley was quick to reassure her. Her mouth twisted in distaste. “Our nephew.”

Arabella looked from one to the other. “I’ll watch him,” she offered. Both Dursleys’ eyes narrowed as though they couldn’t quite believe that someone would actually volunteer to watch this boy. “Is he ill-behaved or something?” she asked.

“Extremely,” Mr. Dursley growled.

“It’s a good thing I like discipline then, isn’t it?” Arabella said, hoping it was the right thing to say. It seemed to be. The Dursleys appeared to soften a bit.

“What will you feed him?” Mrs. Dursley asked.

“Oatmeal and greens,” Arabella replied promptly, warming to her them. “Nothing if he acts out.”

The Dursleys glanced at each other and seemed to come to an agreement. Mrs. Dursley bent to pick up a bundle from the ground and thrust it into Arabella’s arms—Harry, the poor thing. Her heart went out to him but she said nothing.

“We’ll be home around eleven,” Mrs. Dursley informed her. It appeared as though she would be expected to return Harry home. The Dursleys prepared to walk off to their car but Mrs. Dursley turned back suddenly. “I forgot. What’s your name?”

Arabella smiled. “Mrs. Figg, dear.”


End file.
